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[align=justify]-and you’re gonna hear me- “ROAAAAAAAAAARRRRRR!” standing on a chair, looking for snacks with one hand, stuffing them in my backpack with the other. The usual. Guy passed out in bed, me playing sing-along with the radio and stealing his food. -you held me down but- “I GOT UP HEY!”

[align=justify]-Ladies and gentlemen you are listening to Altar radio station, this is an emergency broadcast- “…Kidding me? I was enjoying myself here!” I jump down from the chair, bend my knees and hide my upper body in one of the bottom cabinets. “You must be hiding it somewhere…”

[align=justify]-I repeat, we have lost Zelenogorsk and Myshkino, the infection is now spreading throughout the rest of the country-

[align=justify]“OMG.” I reach inside the cupboard for a long, dark can. “PRINGLES! I absolutely LOVE Pringles!” I swiftly open the can, but there are no crisps to be found. Instead, the can is filled with little balls of dried leaves. “Oh my…jackpot!” I take one between my thumb and index finger and hold it right under my nose. “But you’re much better than Pringles…” I whisper to the little ball as I close the can and store it in my backpack. “Momma’s gonna have some fun when we get home!”

[align=justify]-Citizens are asked to stay inside at all times, I repeat; citizens-

[align=justify]“Staying inside? With that ugly douche? Don’t think so.” I quickly get up, grab a pear from the fruit basket on the dining table, put on my worn out Converse sneakers and softly close the door behind me.

[align=justify]“And you’re gonna hear me rooooooooar…” I softly sing as I leave the hallway for the elevator.

[align=justify]Casually strolling down the street, with - I kid you not - not a single soul outside! “This is the shit…” I take another bite of the pear I borrowed and turn right in the direction of the park. As expected I find Nikolay in his usual spot: left seat of the rusty green garden bench closest to the pond and furthest from the hotdog booth. He’s the kind of character rich people would keep their children away from, saying: “That man is a crazy person, Tommy, you can’t come near those kinds of people! Come on, let me buy you a hotdog from that cute little stall over there.”

[align=justify]I’ve known him for half a year now…I think as I take another bite. “UH, a rotten spot!” I squeal as I spit out a mouthful of pear. “Good thing I took his weed, sending me on my way with a rotten pear…piece of shit…” I can see Nikolay looking in my direction, startled by my sudden shriek. Or he heard me saying ‘weed’… Probably the latter.

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[align=justify]After wiping the bench - don’t want stains on my favourite, and only, jeans - I flop down next to a shirtless, smelly Nikolay. He looks concentrated on pulling out some food scraps stuck in his beard, but I can see him glaring at my backpack as I’m about to open it. I start taking out the catch of the day - 2 snickers, a package of salty crackers, a glass jar halfway filled with dried apricots, a can of sprite and 2 bottles of water. Lastly I take out the can of Pringles, which I had hidden under the rest of the food. Nikolay looks at me with his big, green eyes. He only ever looks this excited when he knows I’m about to share. I wink at him, as a reply to the glance he’s giving me. I take out a small box from one of the side compartments, drop my worn out, puke-orange backpack on the ground and start rolling a cigarette for each of us.

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[align=justify]We weren’t even at it for 5 minutes. “Say, Leah… Can you see that too?” Nikolay slowly asks. I breathe out a small cloud of smoke as I look in the distance, trying to figure out what he’s talking about. I quickly give up my search and give him a confused look. He doesn’t look away from [whatever] he’s staring at as he lifts his finger and points it in its direction. After taking another drag from my cigarette I shove closer to him, trying to look in the same direction his finger is pointing. “It looks like a person…but at the same time it doesn’t quite…does it…” he mutters.

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[align=justify]I feel like laughing at this point, until I actually catch a glimpse of the thing he’s been talking about. It indeed looks like a human, a very, very ugly, sickly human. “What…is that…?” I whisper when suddenly the thing starts running straight towards us, making the kind of sound a dead animal would make. “Dafuq!?” I cry out as I stand up and slowly walk away from the bench, unable to grasp what’s going on. Suddenly, Nikolay jumps up from the bench in the wobbliest way I’ve ever seen, spreads his skinny arms and shouts: “I WILL PROTECT YOU, LEAH! RUN, WHILE YOU STILL CAN!”

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[align=justify]Standing with his back directed towards me, I burst into laughter. “What are you saying, you idiot? This isn’t a horror movie! I know you start feeling it unreasonably quickly, but this is just ridiculous!” I chuckle while taking another drag. The thing kept coming closer, but I didn’t worry about it. You don’t worry about things when you’re on drugs. And live on the street. And sleep in a box. I’ve come across far worse nightmares. As I bend down to close my backpack - I said I don’t worry about things, but I’m not too keen about staying around such creature either - a tormenting scream fills the air. I look up, only to see my friend Nikolay being shred to pieces by the thing we were still mesmerized by just earlier.

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[align=justify]In utter confusion I jump up, slowly walking backwards without taking my eyes off the scene that’s playing in front of me. “What kind of drugs is this!” I squeal, disgusted and groping in the dark about what’s happening. Until that point, the thing hadn’t taken its attention off Nikolay’s corpse, but as soon as I opened my mouth, it looked straight at me with empty eyes and a slightly tilted head. It slowly stood up, its face and hands stained with my friend’s blood, not one second looking away from me.

[align=justify]Don’t fall asleep. Don’t fall asleep. Don’t you dare fall asleep - I keep repeating to myself, peering into the darkness of the alley. It must be around 5am, the sick took over the cities about 3 weeks ago, and things have been so trippy I already used up all the drugs I had left in the Pringles can. I couldn’t help myself. They always say: fight fire with fire, don’t they? I’m not sure what’s worse; being chased by zombies or running out of drugs… Experienced both, have to opt the latter. Running out of drugs in the apocalypse must be the most dreadful ordeal.

I can testify.

Today I feel like…crab cakes and booze. I swiftly jump up from the ground, pick up my baseball bat - sports gear, walking-cane, great weapon - and stroll back in the direction of the promenade. On my way out of the alley I almost trip over a dead body, pick up a pocket watch I think looks pretty cool, crush the skull of an infected using my baseball bat and look up at the sky only to see it’s going to be another cloudy day. Back at the shopping street I turn left, barely paying attention to some infected nibbling on a corpse on the other side of the road. I continue my way to the local grocery store.

It isn’t a big store. Just your regular grocery shop selling basic everyday items. Like crab cakes and booze. And cigarettes. Glass shards crack under my worn-down sneakers as I climb inside through the broken display window. I used to stop by this place regularly to get cigarettes and a sandwich on my way to the strip club. Undressing makes you hungry! Anyway, I know my way through the store even though the only light source is the window. Looking through a variety of canned foods, I hum one of my favourite songs. “I miss the bad things, the way you hate me…”

- crack -

“I like the kick in the faaaaace… And the things you do to me!” I keep looking for a can of king crab (the expensive ones) - without any luck - while carefully reaching for something tucked between my boobs. “I like the way that it huuuuuurts…”

- crack - crack -

“I DON’T MISS YOU, I MISS THE MISERY!”

I quickly turn around on the back of my feet, pull the silver pocket watch out of my cleavage and jump on top of a seemingly very startled man. without hesitating, I knock his head against the floor, wrapping the chain of the watch around his neck. When you live on the streets, you learn a thing or two about defending yourself. “Huff, huff, what are you doing!? Huff, I’m just looking, huff, looking for food! We’re the same, huff, you and I!”

I bend over until my breasts press against the man’s upper back and we’re face to face. He’s a middle aged man, his forehead covered in wrinkles and a handlebar moustache decorating his upper lip. Sweat is dripping down his deep red cheeks, and as I’m pushing his head against the ground, a double chin shows.

“What do we have here… Sneaking up on a young, helpless girl… You’re naughty, sir.” I whisper as I slowly slide my left index finger from his forehead down to the tip of his nose. My right hand resting on the back of his head plays with a grey, greasy hair strand. His breathing intensifies, leaving a foul smell every time he exhales. He stopped struggling and is now looking me straight in the eye with a mix of desperation, desire and confusion. “You were probably really, really lonely all this time…” I pout, not moving my face away from his. Using my thumb and index finger I lift his chin from the ground. “But don’t you worry, sir. Say, did you know that some cultures believe that when a man dies in battle he’ll be rewarded with a hundred women in the afterlife?” He’s still huffing, not looking away from me for one second. “Too bad this wasn’t much of a fight, now you’ll never find out!” I grin, for a split second his breathing stops and his eyes widen.

[align=justify]You know those days where you wake up and have this feeling in your gut that something’s gonna go awfully wrong today? Yeah, this is one of those days.

I just finished my routine to Katy Perry’s E.T. - the crowd digged it - and as I’m climbing off the stage I can see Anastasia winking at me from the bar. I throw my long, curly hair over my shoulder, take out my pocket mirror to check if my make-up’s still in place, and head over to the bar on the other side of the club. I nod at her, as to ask: ‘What’s up?’ - she wouldn’t have heard because of the music. She walks up to me until we’re nothing but an inch apart. Her left hand on my cheek gently pushes my head into the direction her right index finger is pointing. “See that man?” she asks. I look around until I see this huge middle-aged man, sitting alone at a table near the stage.

Even though we’re on opposite sides of the club and men from all parts of town are crowding the space between us, I can feel myself getting nauseous thinking of sweaty armpits and greasy hair. We get them a lot, businessmen blowing off steam after a long work shift, still dressed up in their black custom-made trousers and striped shirt, necktie loosened.

Absolute nightmare.

“He asked Aleksander if you could serve him a Margarita.” Anastasia giggles. Not taking my eyes off the man, I make an ugly face. “No kidding?” I ask hesitantly. She grins. “I wouldn’t make him wait! Come on, here’s your chance.” I look over to see Aleksander holding a Margarita from the other side of the bar. He too - of course - is grinning like a child who’s about to get a cookie. They’re all the same. I sigh, push Anastasia out of the way - causing her to bump into a guy who then playfully smacks her butt, where after she starts giggling uncontrollably - and grab hold of the cocktail, looking Aleksander straight in the face. If my eyes could breathe fire, he’d be a pile of ash right now. Too bad it’s not enough to wipe that mean grin off his face. I turn around on my heels – I can feel his eyes burning a hole through my mini skirt – and head in the direction of the customer.

As I get closer, I notice the man staring at one of the girls on stage – I think her name is Maria – and I hereby swear: even if the club were being consumed by flames, he wouldn’t notice. Of course, he doesn’t see me coming. I take a deep breath and take the last two steps that lead me to the small round table he’s sitting by. I cough, as to catch his attention. When this method proves ineffective, I just place down the margarita in front of him and turn around, ready to head off again. The sooner the better. But just as I’m about to go back to the bar, I can feel a big, sweaty hand grab hold of my wrist. “You’re not going anywhere.” A man says, followed by some drunken giggle. I close my eyes – praying he won’t ask me to do any naughty stuff, because I won’t – and slowly turn around.

In my time at the strip club I have seen men – and women – from all walks of life, but this one truly does it. Picture a fat, burned-out businessman with sweaty armpits, belt loosened, flaming cheeks and pearls of sweat dripping down the side of his face. This can’t get any worse, I think. He’s looking at me – well, my boobs – in a way as if he were convinced that if he stared long enough, he’d be able to feel my nipples without even touching them. Superpowers don’t exist, I think. I know. Still laughing, he takes a sip of the margarita with one hand, while pulling me closer by the wrist he hasn’t let go of the entire time he was observing me. He puts down his cocktail, turns me around – he has to put some force behind it, considering I’m struggling as if I were a babe ready for slaughter – and sets me down on his lap. God, not one of those.

I’m being watched from all sides of the club now: the man, hopefully awaiting my next move, Maria who just started dancing to another song, Aleksander and Anastasia at the bar, still giggling. I roll my eyes, force a smile, cross my legs and put my arm around the man’s shoulder as I take a swig from his margarita. We sit like that for a while, watching the other girls dance, when I suddenly feel his meaty hand on my shoulder. My body freezes and my face screams disgust as he slowly moves his hand down to my chest, my belly, further. That’s when it happens. Way too swiftly for a middle-aged drunk, he unbuttons my skirt and slips his hand inside my panties. My eyes widen.